But What
by Hold-my-tea
Summary: John has placed an ad that he is searching for a new flat mate and Sherlock is just been given to O.K. to return to the land of the living. How will John react to everything? (post Reichenbach)


Sherlock picked up the nearby newspaper and flipped through it. He wasn't really looking for anything in particular, but that didn't stop his eyes from catching a familiar name. Looking over the ad, Sherlock frowned. Apparently John was trying to find a new flat mate and had resorted to placing an ad in the paper. Picking up his new phone, Sherlock typed out his first message:

Is this the number for John Watson? [unknown]

Yes. Who, may I ask, is inquiring? JW

Well, I saw that you were looking for a flat share. Oh, and my name is Hal Stevens. -HS

Oh, I see. I'm glad someone saw the ad. So, tell me about yourself. I'll set up a meeting with you of course, but I'm a bit preoccupied today, so it will have to wait a bit if that's alright. JW

It's fine. I am use to waiting. Well, I have spent the last few years traveling on business. -HS

Luckily everything has settled down so I was finally able to return back to London. -HS

Well, good, I suppose. That sounds fascinating. Traveling. -JW

Indeed but it was very stressful. -HS

Sorry to hear that. -JW

Maybe you could tell me about yourself as well. -HS

Right, of course. I'm an ex-army doctor. I work at a small free clinic now; not much money in it, but I don't mind. Got out of a relationship a while back-Why I'm looking for a flat share. -JW

I know how that is. You think it will never end but something has to ruin it. -HS

Relationships? I suppose... though that something was me in that case. -JW

What do you mean? -HS

We had gotten engaged. I broke it off. It... She was a lovely woman. Is. Is a lovely woman. The kindest most loving woman I'll ever meet but... You don't really want to hear about this. -JW

I don't want to be pegged as the 'confirmed bachelor', and horrible idea for a flat mate. -JW

Besides, it's a long story. -JW

I suppose so. Is there any strange habits you might have? Just curious so I won't bother you with them. -HS

Nightmares. From time to time I wake up... disoriented, distraught. Though for the most part it shouldn't be a bother. -JW

My work causes my sleep schedule to be erratic. So don't worry if I am up at 2:00 in the morning. -HS

Right, okay. I have a limp. I know it's not a habit, but some people are put off by it. -JW

That's... a long story as well. -JW

[delayed] I just googled you. I like your blog. -HS

Oh. Well, thank you. I don't write much on it anymore. Just restarted it up several months ago. –JW

You seem to have an exciting life. -HS

Not so much anymore. Though, it has its moments. -JW

You said you were preoccupied today. May I ask with what and if you would require any help? -HS

I just have a few patients to take care of, and I'm having lunch with my sister... Well, I say lunch... -JW

I won't ask any further. I can tell that is a touchy subject. -HS

It's alright. She's family. What can I do? -JW

I suppose you are correct. So, should I drop by tomorrow around 11:00? -HS

11:00 would work splendidly. Thank you. -JW

Great! See you then. -HS

See you then. It was good to hear from you. I look forward to meeting you in person. -JW

I look forward to it as well, Doctor Watson. -HS

Please. John. -JW

Alright, John. -HS

Sherlock smiled as he pocketed his phone. In less than 24 hours he would be going back to Baker Street to see John once again. At the moment, Sherlock was reclining on Mycroft's couch in annoyance. He was finally given the okay to return after he had taken care of Sebastian Moran. Shrugging, Sherlock fell into a restless sleep as he waited for tomorrow to come.

John pocketed his phone with a confused smile on his face. It had been nearly three weeks since he'd posted the opening and not one person had shown any interest. He was beginning to wonder if he'd have to move-not that Mycroft had stopped supplying his bank account with money, but John was tired of being alone. He wanted a friend. He wanted... He wanted to sleep and shut his brain off for a moment or two.

Waking up several hours later, Sherlock noted the time and nodded to himself that it was time to get ready. Slipping on a clean pair of clothes and his coat, Sherlock sat down for a little bit with Mycroft. The two exchanged harsh words as always but the three years had made them grow a little closer, not that either would admit it. Nodding his goodbye and making a final statement about the failing diet, Sherlock began the walk back to 221B.

John woke promptly at 6:00 as he had done since his therapist had told him to put some resemblance of a schedule back into his life. He ate, exercises a bit-paying attention to his damn leg, and then showered before heading in to see his one patient for the day. He hobbled up the steps to the apartment and looked at his cane for a bit before placing it in the front hallway closet and painfully carrying himself over to the couch. It was psychosomatic. He would deal with it.

It was currently 10:59 and Sherlock was standing outside the door. He was nervous and scared for what John would say. He had created Hal Stevens as a way to talk to John in a way that would provide a friendly atmosphere and not add any sort of hostility. When the time on Sherlock's phone reached 11:00, Sherlock knocked a few times and shifted his weight from his left foot to his right and back again. A clear sign of just how nervous he was.

John looked up when he heard the knock at the door and he got up off the couch with a soft groan. He walked to the door and took a deep breath, insuring himself that he would be fine. He could do this; it was time; and he was ready. He opened the door, moving slowly out of the way, and put a smile on his face. "Hi, you must be Ha-" He looked up at the man standing in his doorway and froze. Every nerve of his body seemingly on fire, and frozen in place at the same time. "Sh...Sh..Sher..."

Concern filled Sherlock's eyes. He blinked a few times and then nodded, "John..." Sherlock pondered what he should say next but he was at a loss for words for once in his life. Swallowing, he struggled to say anything, "John, I... I am sorry."

John started panting softly, shaking his head quickly back and forth as if trying to get rid of an apparition. But no matter how many times he blinked and shook his head, Sherlock was still there. "I don't... I don't understand. "You... you died and... you... I... I..." John went quiet for a moment, staring at a blank spot on the floor before he whispered, with venom in his voice, "I buried you."

Sherlock lowered his gaze to the ground and closed his eyes. Suddenly, Sherlock found the words he desperately wanted to say, "I know, I watched you. I watched and could hear everything. I wanted to tell you everything." Looking back up at John, a tear rolled down Sherlock's face, "Because if I hadn't faked my death, I would have had blood on my hands. I would have caused the murders of my three closest friends and I would have never been able to live with myself for that."

John looked up at Sherlock again and felt his heart shatter all over again as he watched the glistening tear drop from Sherlock's jaw. He started shaking his head again, though more slowly as if just trying to clear his brain. "There is no Hal Stevens," he said in barely a whisper feeling his anger start to grow, talking to himself more that Sherlock at that point. His brain didn't know which direction to turn.

Slowly shaking his head, "No, that was me. I thought that it might be better is I used a fake name to arrange this meeting. I gave small hints at who I was. Just enough to make you feel comfortable but not enough to cause you pain." Pausing for a moment, Sherlock swallowed again, "I am sorry, John. Is there anything I could do to make this up to you?"

John only heard up until the end of Sherlock's first sentence before his blood began to boil. He gripped his hands in tight fist and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to run one of the breathing exercises his therapist had had him work on the last few years in times like this. "...not enough...to cause me pain?" he asked, his voice hollow, low, and menacing. "You can't even begin to grasp the amount of pain that-" he sucked in a quick breath of air and turned around, walking to the kitchen and leaning against the table top, trying to calm himself.

Not sure if he should follow, Sherlock hesitated. He cursed himself for saying that but he didn't know what else to say. After a few moments, Sherlock entered the flat and noticed a few boxes; he didn't need to ask for it was obviously his stuff. Walking into the kitchen, Sherlock stood a few feet behind John, "I don't think I could ever make up for what I did but..." But what? Was there even anything Sherlock could say that would help the situation? Taking a deep breath, Sherlock opted to just stand there in silence.

John gripped the edge of the table hard, until he heard it squeak and rustle beneath his hands. He had his eyes squeezed shut, a part of him hoping this was all a horrible nightmare, but Sherlock's voice so near pulled him from that train of thought. He turned quickly and looked up before walking forward a step and shoving Sherlock's chest. "But what!" he yelled, his hands tightening into fists again. "But maybe I'll just say it's all fine? Maybe I'll forget the way that for nearly a year I could hardly get out of bed? Forget that if it weren't for that stupid brother of yours I would be homeless and starving on the streets? **BUT WHAT**!"

"I don't know..." Sherlock mumbled. He honestly didn't know what to do. Seeing John this angry and being indecisive made Sherlock's exterior crumble. His face cracked into a face he had never made before and it was pure defeat. His face showed every pain he had faced in his life as they came crashing to the surface. Leaning against the door, Sherlock slid down till he was sitting on the ground. Bringing his knees to his chest, he hid his face from John, "I don't know, John." Sherlock's voice was beginning to crack at the strain of holding back tears.

John watched Sherlock slide to the floor and as he did, his anger seemed to dissipate to just pain. All the pain he'd felt the last three years and every time he'd made himself dry his eyes came crashing into him and he felt warm, wet tears sliding down his face. "But maybe I'll stop waking up, gasping and thrashing? Trying to run faster... faster so that I can stop you from jumping?" he said softly, his voice breaking. "But... but maybe I'll forget the way your gravestone shown in the sun that day... It shouldn't have been sunny..."

Hearing John's voice soften, Sherlock looked up. He noticed how John had tears sliding down his face. Seeing John's, Sherlock became aware of the tears on his own face. He wiped his own away with the back of his hand, "I wanted to give you that miracle. When I heard you talk to the grave, I cried. I wanted to run over there and tell you everything would be all right. There has not been a day that has gone by that I have not thought of you, John. You were- **are** my best friend."

John looked down at the defeated man with pity. He thought back to everything he and Sherlock ever did and how the detective made him happy. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair and wiped his face with the sleeve of his jumper. John lowered himself to the ground and sat cross legged across from Sherlock. Keeping his gaze focused on the ground, John spoke in a whisper that would have only been audible to the taller man, "You hurt me. You hurt me more than anyone else in my life…" Bringing his eyes up, he locked John locked his with Sherlock's, "You can be the world's biggest prick but you are still my best friend."

Hearing John's words, Sherlock's face brightened slightly. Closing his eyes and smiling, Sherlock nodded his head. He wiped the remaining tears from his face and responded, "I promise, John, I will never hurt you again."

John smiled, "You better not, you idiot." John found himself giggling. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. The noise almost shocked him but he welcomed it. It was good to have change again. Standing to his feet, John reached out a hand to Sherlock.

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw that John was holding out a hand. Taking it and staggering to his feet, Sherlock couldn't help but wrap his arms around John in a tight embrace, "I missed you John. I am so sorry I have done this to you. I understand if you find it difficult to forgive me but please just let me know if you will try…"

John was a little surprised by the contact. He had so many emotions running through him; anger that he had been lied to, shock at the revelation, but mostly relief that Sherlock was alive. John hugged the detective back. Unsure of what to say, he closed his eyes and whispered the one thing that would satisfy himself and Sherlock, "Welcome home, Sherlock."


End file.
